


hardest of hearts

by prowlish



Series: commissions [10]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutually Unrequited, Oral Sex, Pre-Relationship, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz is in heat, and he's fixated on Prowl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hardest of hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission for a wonderful and patient person. Thank you so much and I hope you like it! :')
> 
> Florence + the Machine wasn't my inspiration going into writing this, but I was listening to a bunch of B-sides and demos the other day and so the title comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LD7Plg_aL0), which I found fitting in some of the lyrics.

This was embarrassing to say the least. Prowl knew Jazz couldn’t help it, but still. Being followed through the base by a mech clearly in heat was distracting at best. Prowl tried valiantly to get his work and duties accomplished unfazed, but locking Jazz out of his office was, in a word, impossible. Even in this state, Jazz was able to hack through any locks he put on the door. Go figure.

 

He supposed it was sweet, in a way, that Jazz would choose him out of the many who would surely be glad to warm Jazz’s berth -- but it was a tad awkward. They were good friends, sure, but -- Prowl didn’t often consider beyond that, and Jazz had never shown any interest before this came over him.

 

The fact that Jazz kept breaking into his office to dote on him and try to work his hands beneath Prowl’s plating didn’t make it any less awkward.

 

But this, honestly, _ really _ took the oil cake. Reading in his private quarters was Prowl’s favorite escape from the day, and he was cozy in his favorite chair when he heard it. The sound of a keypad being hacked was unmistakeable and Prowl let his datapad fall into his lap as he frowned severely at the door. His office was one thing, but his quarters? Really? Was he going to have to talk to Ironhide instead of Ratchet next?

 

The door slid open to reveal Jazz. Always, before he got to close, his friend looked as he usually did to Prowl: sleek and well-cared for armor, bright visor, perpetual smile on the lips… and in this case even a snicker. 

 

Jazz was pleased with himself, apparently.

 

“Jazz…” Prowl said, the frown evident even in his voice.

 

Jazz managed a perfectly innocent look as the door slid shut behind him. “Evenin’,” he hummed.

 

Prowl pressed his lips thin, trying to school himself to patience. It wasn’t Jazz’s fault he was in this condition… and still possessed the skillset expected of the head of spec ops. Prowl nodded at Jazz and valiantly tried to resume his reading. “I think you counted the doors to your room wrong,” he remarked.

 

Jazz laughed at this. “I’m right where I intended to be,” he practically cooed.

 

Just as Prowl had feared. He frowned again, glancing over the top of the datapad at Jazz. “Jazz…” he said, more of a reprimand in his voice this time.

 

“C’mon Prowler,” Jazz purred. At this distance, Prowl could pick out the nearly feverish glow of his visor. Primus. He was getting to the most intense part of it -- which meant it would be over soon, with or without a… participant. Not that this knowledge helped Prowl with his current problem. He opened a comline with Ratchet -- a familiar action by now, with Jazz’s attention to him of late. 

 

But then, thoughtful, he closed the comlink. Ratchet had made a frustrated remark once at his numerous pings:  _ “Why don’t you just help him sate it, then?” _ At the time, it had ruffled his doorwings right up in offense -- but at that time, he’d been in the middle of constructing some very important tactical visuals. The notion of abandoning work for pleasure was foreign to him, especially when it wasn’t his own needs drawing him away. But now… sure, he was invested in his reading, but if he had enough time off and Jazz was nearly out of this, then -- couldn’t he help out his friend?

 

It wasn’t that much a burden, in the end. Jazz was one of his closer friends, and satiating his desires this late in the cycle might go on and bring him out of it -- and it would be nice to have his friend back, Prowl thought wryly. He’d much rather Jazz hack into his office just to bother him like usual, not to pet his doorwings and try to  _ canoodle. _ Prowl might worry about some measure of awkwardness with anyone else, but it was  _ Jazz _ . He’d been smoothing over what Prowl had thought of awkward in himself ever since they’d met.

 

When he looked up again, he was almost startled to see Jazz so close. 

 

“Watcha got on the mind, Prowler?” Jazz said with a grin. And it was such a close and familiar thing -- something Jazz said to him every time he witnessed Prowl lost in thought -- that Prowl smiled. He’d been treating his friend as a problem, not as a friend  _ with _ a problem. Jazz surely suffered all the more, being the one  _ in _ heat. Helping in a situation like this wasn’t unusual or taboo; after all, they weren’t back in the barbaric times where a heat cycle determined your bondmate.

 

“Clearing some indecision,” Prowl finally said, and set his datapad aside.

 

Jazz grinned as bright as that visor of his, and Prowl felt warmth bloom in his spark. This was the right decision.

 

\---

 

Prowl’s berthroom wasn’t built for luxury. No one’s was, really, but despite being a bit roomier given his rank, Prowl’s were still sparse of the comfort and leisures that the other Autobots adorned their living quarters with. Jazz had always teased him for it -- but right now, he didn’t seem to mind.

 

Well, that was unfair. Right now his systems were altered… and yet something about it was very amusing to Prowl. 

 

He supposed something had to distract him from the electric tangle his circuits were in as he curled his legs close to his frame, seated upon his berth. Jazz wasn’t far behind him. “No reason to be nervous, Prowl,” Jazz murmured. Something about his voice was so close and intimate in this moment that he had no idea how to manage the flutter in his frame.

 

Primus, he wasn’t one to get all mushy about an interface -- even an interface with a friend -- but something about it… Prowl cleared his vocalizer. “I’m not nervous,” he said.

 

Jazz had to hop to get on the berth -- it was set for Prowl’s longer legs -- but he managed it gracefully. “You’re still thinkin’ too much,” he hummed. “...second thoughts?”

 

Prowl shook his helm. He just smiled. “You know me.”

 

Jazz leaned closer, close enough that Prowl could feel the heat radiating off his frame in waves. “Mm, I don’t intend for you to spend the entire night lost in your own processor,” he purred.

 

Prowl felt a shiver of heat in his own frame, reflected in a shudder of doorwings behind him. Jazz evidently took that as invitation; the next Prowl knew, he was caressing one of the sensor panels. Prowl gasped, letting his optic shutters flutter as sensation sparked through his circuits. 

 

Surely it should be easy to let go. He trusted Jazz… and he was steadily more distracted by the gentle fingers playing over his door panel. When Jazz leaned forward, Prowl was already reaching for him, and they met in a warm and affectionate kiss.

 

Prowl hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. It was -- nice.

 

Electrifying.

 

His hands grasped at Jazz’s shoulders, heat rushing to his features as Jazz kissed him again and again, trailing his lips down Prowl’s chin and over his jaw. The moment Prowl finally tipped his helm back, Jazz gently pressed him back to the berth. Heat was already overwhelming, from Jazz’s frame in his condition; Prowl laid back compliantly, arching his backstruts as he let his vents open fully to keep his frame cool, while he could.

 

The warm touch of Jazz’s hands on his frame sent whirls of tingling pleasure through Prowl’s circuits, dizzying -- incredible how there was so much sensation from his friend’s hands sliding down his sides, over his waist, teasing at his hip seams… Prowl licked his lips, murmured Jazz’s name.

 

Jazz hadn’t been kidding on not letting him be lost in his own processor.

 

Vaguely he was aware that Jazz was murmuring something. Soft praises; how lovely he looked, how Jazz was looking forward to this… It brought another flush to his features, making him thrill again. Who knew Jazz was this sweet! Ah, but then -- the heat coding had that effect on him, apparently.

 

Jazz kissed his neck and Prowl let out a little sigh, allowing his optics to shutter. This feeling, this blossoming heat in his frame -- it threatened to engulf him. Prowl’s instinct was to fight it. Resist. Stay in control.

 

There was something freeing about letting go, allowing the pleasure to rush through him with every touch and caress from Jazz’s hands and lips. Prowl arched beneath Jazz, his engine rumbling lowly as his fingers pushed into the berthmat. 

 

“Jazz…” he murmured again, feeling the edge of his denta against his collar struts. 

 

He could feel an answering rumble from Jazz’s engine, humming through his plating as Jazz continued his slow journey down Prowl’s frame. It gave Prowl a rush -- and an electrifying tingle to parts of him that most considered inactive.

 

It didn’t take long for Jazz to reach his clearly intended destination -- nestled between Prowl’s legs -- but his path had burned hot through Prowl, making his plating rattle as he panted. His doorwings were stuck between his back and the berth, but it made no difference to him; the fuzzy feedback from the sensor-rich panels just served as more pleasant white noise for Jazz’s actions to play off. Somehow, even that made it better. 

 

Prowl was still occupied with how every circuit in his frame felt like it was hot and alive, as though infected by Jazz’s heat, when he felt the teasing edge of those denta against the inside of his thigh.

 

_ Frag. _

 

Prowl arched again, letting out a hiss, his hands curling into fists as even more pleasure looped through him. Primus. It had been a while, sure, but Jazz seemed especially talented in touching a mech. Jazz himself seemed tickled, chuckling softly and slipping his hands down to grasp Prowl’s hips. Had he been squirming? It all felt too hazy in his mind, and he knew his frame was doing its own thing in order to deal with the onslaught of sensations.

 

And Jazz hadn’t even gotten under his plating yet! 

 

Licking his lips, Prowl tried his best not to squirm again as he felt Jazz’s hot vents against his panel. It seemed to settle in the seams, making his entire array burn beneath the metal, drawing a soft moan from Prowl’s lips.

 

He needed little coaxing in order to let that panel fold away. Jazz was clearly delighted at this, drawing another shiver of Prowl’s plating as he squeezed Prowl’s thighs again before slipping back up to grasp at his hip plating. 

 

Anticipation flirted through his tanks, drawing them tight as he felt Jazz hovering over his exposed array. For a moment, he felt a touch of embarrassment, feeling almost scrutinized -- but then, Jazz didn’t make him wait long. Prowl gasped as he felt Jazz’s lips simply press to his valve -- kissing it, gently, sweetly… How was he to endure such tenderness?

 

From here his thoughts truly did melt away, into the pleasure of Jazz’s mouth on his valve, his glossa lapping ever so gently between the folds, fingers almost too-tight in the seams of his hip plating -- but in reality, just adding another spice to the experience.

 

“Jazz!” he gasped again, upper body twisting, his trapped doorwings shuddering again and giving him more muddled sensation sliding down his backstruts.

 

Jazz’s only reply was to push against Prowl’s valve as though he couldn’t get enough, lapping teasingly at his entrance and every so often suckling around his anterior node to send pleasure white-hot through his frame.

 

Incredible. It was simply incredible, and all too much to process, the heavy charge rolling through him and crackling in his field. 

 

The overload came almost as a surprise. Prowl arched and gasped down an intake like it was the first one he’d ever taken. He pushed his hips up into Jazz’s hands, optics gazing unseeing into the ceiling as he let the pleasure shimmer through him and settle into a hazy warmth.

 

“Jazz…” he murmured, only to hear a soft shushing sound. Prowl managed to lean up and peer down at the mech over his bumper. The vision of Jazz nestled between his thighs, licking lubricant from his lips as his hands still firm on Prowl’s pelvic plating.

 

“Nowhere near done,” Jazz murmured, his voice a hoarse rumble. 

 

Prowl swallowed, feeling that rough tone awaken a trickle of charge in his core again.

 

_ Frag! _

 

Jazz’s enthusiasm took him higher again, having him twisting and arching and crying out through two more overloads. Prowl was left gasping, his frame so hot that he thought the berth might melt around him. Primus, he felt like he could hardly see straight! 

 

“Jazz,” he panted, squirming into the berth topper. But he could barely move a trembly limb, let alone lift his helm. 

 

Accommodatingly, Jazz lifted himself within Prowl’s range of vision; somehow his interface felt a little cooler with Jazz’s lips away from his valve -- and yet he yearned for more. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what he’d called Jazz’s attention for, except for a respite before his circuits fused together! 

 

He managed to focus his optics long enough to register Jazz’s grin. “Okay, Prowler?”

 

Prowl let out a shaky laugh, letting his helm fall back again. “Yeah,” he gasped.

 

Jazz hummed, leaning up to press a kiss to Prowl’s parted lips. Prowl felt his cheeks flush more as Jazz pulled away, swallowing with the mech’s visor so close to his face that he swore he could see the shape of Jazz’s optics behind it. The mech’s hand drifted between his legs, sending more excitement than Prowl thought possible skittering up his backstruts.

 

“Jazz,” he murmured, but Jazz quieted him with another soft, warm kiss. His fingers slid through the slick folds of Prowl’s valve, making him gasp against his friend’s lips. How Jazz could stand focusing so much attention on him alone was beyond Prowl -- but here he was, gently coaxing Prowl into another overload through the gentle seeking touches of his fingertips on Prowl’s by now over-sensitive equipment. Prowl could hardly believe it, that so much pleasure could be wrung out of a frame most considered frigid, devoid of any desire or sensuality.

 

Sometimes Prowl believed it himself, as if a war and a million other things weren’t reason enough to have kept to himself for this long. He fumbled for words as his intakes whined, struggling to cool his molten frame. Jazz stroked his cheeks with his other hand, making a soft shushing sound. That was -- surprisingly soothing. Prowl paused, allowing himself to calm his intakes and come down from it, his plating twitching with residual energy. Pleasure-bleary optics were made to focus with a little sigh from Prowl.

 

“What is it?” Jazz murmured.

 

“Ah, just…” Prowl rolled his lower lip between his denta, shivering as Jazz’s slick fingers traced around his interface array. He swallowed. “Isn’t this about  _ your _ pleasure?” He choked out.

 

Jazz hummed, a smirk curving his lips. “Mm… but I can’t get enough of seeing you overload,” he purred.

 

Prowl shifted, feeling a fresh flush in his features. “Really,” he said, full of disbelief. 

 

“Really,” Jazz said, chuckling.

 

Prowl worked his lips a little, huffing more heated air out of his vents. “I don’t see how that’s to… satisfy your, uh. Condition.”

 

Jazz nuzzled at Prowl’s cheeks, venting hot air against his jaw and neck. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured. “I look at you and it makes me wanna make  _ you _ feel that…” His thumb circled over Prowl’s anterior node, making the tactician gasp.

 

“Jazz…” Prowl murmured, but he didn’t know what to say or do with that except remind himself that Jazz was under the influence of that primal coding. Yet still, he couldn’t help pushing his hips into that touch. He swallowed, then offered a shaky smile. “Do you want to spike me?” He asked. Not exactly sensual, but. Prowl was helping his friend. Nothing more. (He could almost convince the pang in his spark.)

 

Prowl felt a shiver of pure desire roll through Jazz’s field and against his own, making the mech’s armor shiver in its wake. That was his answer right there, and yet… Jazz held back. Prowl lifted his hands to Jazz’s shoulder. “Jazz?” He murmured.

 

“Do _ you _ want that?”

 

Prowl frowned a little. “If you want to, it’s good. I want to -- I am trying to help satisfy and sate, after all. I know it’s easier like that.”

 

Jazz hummed, looking more than a little dissatisfied with his answer. “Typically,” he corrected. “Not necessarily.” Prowl pursed his lips in thought, trying to figure out what Jazz was getting at. But then Jazz sighed and went on: “Just want you to enjoy it and want it, too.” It was soft, almost a murmur. A confession.

 

Prowl felt that warm pang in his spark again, but he just showed Jazz a little smile. “Jazz,” he said softly, but commanding the mech’s attention all the sae. “I’ve loved every single thing you’ve done. Don’t worry.”

 

Jazz gave a little half-smile. “You? Tellin’ me not to worry?”

 

Prowl chuckled. “Well, you’re the one who started off by saying I shouldn’t be in my head the whole time…”

 

Jazz laughed. “Guess you’re right, Prowler.”

 

This time, Prowl only let himself feel the warmth of the good feeling bubbling through him at Jazz’s laughter. “As usual.”

 

Jazz snorted. “Hey now, I don’t know about that…”

 

Prowl hummed. “I do,” he remarked.

 

“Cheeky.” But for the moment, Jazz let the banter drop there, in favor of touching Prowl’s valve again and finally opened his own interface hatch -- finally! Prowl just realized that Jazz had kept his array covered this whole time! That was far more control than Prowl would’ve ever granted to Jazz… 

 

It didn’t take much time for Jazz to navigate them together, and soon Prowl was gasping at the push of Jazz’s spike into him. He was still taking it slow and gentle, though after so much attention, Prowl’s valve offered no resistance. But he could tell -- Jazz was savoring each moment, and that more than anything made it easy to lose himself in the entire experience: the heat and slickness of Prowl’s well-prepared valve, the electrical zap of charge between their nodes as he pushed deeper inside, the shiver of Prowl’s calipers as his valve stretched to accommodate Jazz’s spike. 

 

Prowl let out a moan, his plating shivering with each sensation. “Jazz,” he gasped again, his optics offlining. It only made his sensors go even more wild with the touch of Jazz’s warm hands, the electric thrill of their fields colliding, and the spike rocking gentle and deep into him.

 

“Frag,” Jazz gasped. Prowl definitely agreed.

 

He continued like this, building the heat higher still, until Prowl was truly convinced they might melt some part of his berth. Every thrust was exquisite, leaving him gasping and trembling, moving his whole frame with Jazz, always seeking more and knowing that he couldn’t hang on much longer while Jazz was keeping this pace.

 

Not that Prowl wanted him to stop -- and he said so.

 

Jazz cursed, and even with his optics offline, Prowl could tell Jazz was kissing and caressing wherever he could reach.This time when overload sparked through his systems, Prowl could only hold on tight to Jazz’s frame -- and let go into unconsciousness.

 

\---

 

When he awoke, Jazz was curled up next to him, purring. He let out a soft grunt, getting his bearings. Optics he didn’t worry about for the moment; he was more concerned about his chronometer. How long had he been out? How long had Jazz been laughing at him for offlining during an overload like some overly passionate youngling?

 

“Shh,” Jazz murmured as he shifted about. 

 

Prowl finally brought his optics online and found himself gazing at a dim visor. The rest of the room was still low lit, and Jazz’s presence was nice and warm -- just warm. None of the feverish heat from before. For a moment, all he could manage in reply was a hum. 

 

When he finally got his vocalizer cooperating: “Feeling better?”

 

Jazz chuckled. “Mmm, yep,” he replied, one hand still stroking down Prowl’s side. How was that touch so soothing now? “One good one usually takes care of it.”

 

“Good,” Prowl murmured, feeling a secret spot of satisfaction. It took him a moment to start paying attention to what bothered him about that remark; something he’d already mentioned, but with this new informaton… He finally frowned and looked over at Jazz again. “...If that’s the case, you could’ve relieved yourself much earlier.”

 

Jazz didn’t move much, but Prowl was used to reading his field and what he could see of Jazz’s features and was well aware that the other mech was gazing at him. Considering, maybe. Then, finally, he shrugged. “Thought you already asked and had that answered,” he said.

 

Prowl felt a touch of warmth come into his cheeks and he turned his helm away again. Honestly! Jazz must’ve been still affected by the coding; surely all its effects didn’t cease immediately, and he knew very well from the past week that it made Jazz behave much more affectionately than he normally did. That was fine. It was just another symptom.

 

“Shh, Prowl,” Jazz murmured, pulling him close again -- like he sensed Prowl’s busy processor.  “S’not like I was here just to  _ use _ you. We’re still friends, yeah?”

 

“Yes,” Prowl answered softly. He could sense the sleepy sprawl of Jazz’s field, tugging him back towards unconsciousness. Prowl readily surrendered to that, too; for now it was better than examining what Jazz meant with all of that, or trying to piece out the new and different feelings that swarmed his spark.

 

_ It was just the heat, _ Prowl told himself, as he offlined his optics. But it was still a nice answer from Jazz, and for a moment, as he drifted closer to recharge in Jazz’s arms, he could let himself believe that the sentiment was genuine.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
